


Haven's Fire

by Angel_Trent



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Body Modification, Brainwashing, Drama, Drug Addiction, Gen, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, POV Multiple, Red Lyrium, Red Lyrium Cullen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Trent/pseuds/Angel_Trent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haven was the birthplace of Inquisition. And the place it had died, burned and buried. When Valmyrion Lavellan wakes up, the world is in a poor state: Red Templars, Venatori and rifts are plaguing the lands. But he is the Inquisitor and there is mission to fulfill.</p><p>Many thanks to catlantean, my awesome lore and twisted shit consultant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, mildly interested person! Thanks for clicking. ^^ The first time I finished DA:I and chose mages, I remember deep fascination with the dark future that was the result of Alexius' backfired magic. And I wished the whole game was like that. Dark and desperate, people fighting against horrible odds. So... There it is. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

**Prologue**

"Inquisitor, the army of templars are at our gates, we have to act _now_!" Cullen's voice reached a shrill level of pitch that no living soul had ever heard Commander produce. He gazed upon the dozens and dozens of lights that were crawling down the mountain. Lavellan could swear he saw Cullen's lip quivering in utter desperation. Really, he felt about the same type of panic and thus hardly could judge someome else's behaviour. If he could flee, he would be out of here in no time but people depended on his patience and that dependance was the only thing that kept him grounded right now.

"Cullen, just a little longer. We _have_ to see this through. The Elder One," a whirlwhind made by powerful wings carried the rest of Inquisitor's words away, making both him and Cullen shield their faces against biting snow. A mighty roar shook the air and as the snow settled down, only a lone figure remained. Lavellan never saw such creature before. He made sure to read enough about darkspawn both out of personal interest and as was required of him, being the next in line for the role of the Keeper. But reading was one thing and seeing for yourself... The waves of terror, so thick and yet impalpable emitted from where the Elder One was standing. He was tall, skeletal thin and dressed in what probably used to be an old fashioned mage robe. Long fingers ended in sharp black claws that were about the same length as the fingers, if not more. Lavellan absentmindedly acknowledged that the body of the creature was partly covered in armor, that seemed to be fused with his skin, in places. But that was not the most disturbing part. The eyes... Human eyes on a darkspawn. Sentient and full of disdain they stared right back at him, making The Inquisitor shudder and take a step back. A quick glance towards the trebuchet told Lavellan that Cullen was in position.

"You are the one they call the Herald of Andraste," it was not a question. A statement full of disgust, as if The Elder One was looking at a roach. "Sent by the Maker to save the world from its certain doom. The Maker that had never existed."

"You speak bold words but where is your proof?"Lavellan was fighting against the wish to just turn away and run. The aura of terror the darkspawn was emitting pounded on his subconscious like a fine dwarven hammer on an anvil.

"I am the proof!" the creature barked and the next moment disappeared, just to reappear next to Lavellan and grab him by the hand that had the Anchor on it. Pain shot through his arm, making the elf cringe for a moment. "I've been to your 'Golden City', I've seen the seat of your Maker. The desolation ruled it, dead whispers in the wind."

The Elder One lifted Lavellan in the air, an almost amused expression in his eyes as the small elf struggled to get free. The Anchor seemed to bristle in the presense of the Elder One, sending waves of pain through Lavellan's body, its green sparkles reflecting in the unsettling human eyes of the darkspawn.

"You stole something of mine, _thief_. Your intervention was costly but I have way around it. You will not live to see your world burn."

Clawed hand clutched his neck tightly, making the Inquisitor gasp for breath.

"Why... are... you... doing this..."

"Because I _can_."

The world started fading away rapidly, its colours darkening by the second and the sounds of battle floating further and further away. 

"No!"

The familiar sound of trebuchet's release mechanism. A furious growl and then a feeling of being tossed into the air. A shriek of some big creature and a sound of mighty wings disappearing in the distance. Cullen's face. Somebody is dragging him away. And then another sound - a deafening roar of the avalanche coming down the mountain, destroying Red Templars, destroying Haven, destroying all.

So cold...


	2. Lavellan

**1.**

His eyes flew open and at first the Inquisitor thought he had gone blind, for the light in the room was so dim he could hardly make out the shapes of the furniture piled up in the opposite corner. Lavellan felt numb and as he tried to move his body, he realised, with growing horror, that he could not. As the elf tried to call for help, nothing but a hoarse croak came out - his throat felt just as delightful as the summer in Anderfels.

I am going to die. Or am I dead? It feels like I am...

"... help..."

A pitiful whisper fell from his lips and the Inquisitor felt his head spinning. Such tiny effort had cost him all the energy he could muster. As he tried to stop the room from spinning and flashing with bright colours, soft footsteps had reached his ears and the dim light became brighter and warmer. A light of a small candle.

"Awake at last. I was starting to loose hope."

That voice. Soft and calm, with a spark of sarcasm hidden within it. It belonged to no-one else but Solas, an elven apostate mage that had joined them at Haven. Lavellan found Solas to be fascinating to talk to about all things elven history even though on more then one ocasion the disdain of the mage towards the Dalish was a bit of a turnoff. Turning his neck felt like the whole new feat of strength but Valmyrion had managed at last.

"Solas?... Where?"

"Hush, my friend. You have to get your strength back. Here, drink this."

Whatever it was, it smelled like nug's shit but the Inquisitor drank the bitter liquid and let his head fall back on the pillow, feeling warm sensation radiating from his stomach and spreading all over his body.

He had surely passed out, for when the next time Lavellan had opened his eyes, the light of the candle was replaced with rays of sunshine falling through the window and the cracks in the wall. This time the attempt to stand up was much more productive and Valmyrion actually made it all the way to the door before collapsing on the floor right in front of it. This felt degrading but after many attempts to lift himself up by clutching at the doorknob, Valmyrion gave up and knocked faintly. The door opened, and as Lavellan's eyes traveled upwards, his gaze met with that of Solas'.

"You could have called."

"I wanted to do this by _myself_." something in apostate's intonation made the Inquisitor bristle, his golden eyes flashing in anger.

"Admirable. And yet here you are," Lavellan could swear he heard fleeting mockery in Solas' voice. "Let me help you."

Valmyrion's pride dictated him to push away the helping hand and do it on his own. The rest of his senses were screaming the opposite and, as in most cases, they prevailed, making Lavellan grab elf's outstretched hand and crawl up slowly. His joints, his muscles... The whole body felt alien to him. Last thing the Inquisitor had remembered was being buried alive by the snow. But wherever they were, it looked nothing like the buildings in Haven.

"I feel... horrible," he confessed, rubbing his forehead. The hand on his face, just like everything, felt wrong and not the way he remembered at all. When he actually lifted his palm closer to the eyes Lavellan was schocked to see a thin hand with joints so visible under pale skin you could almost see through it. A hand of an old man. Only now Valmyrion noticed how big his clothes felt. Something was very wrong and so he stopped in his tracks. "Solas, mirror. Anything, just please, I need... I need to see."

The mage looked around and soon came back with big dusty silver tray. With trembling hands Lavellan reached to wipe away the layer of dust so he could see himself properly. What the Inquisitor saw made him cringe. Back at him stared pale creature so thin, he almost looked ghoulish. Eyes sat deep in their sockets, sorrounded by circles so dark it made him look like a raccoon. Flock of unkempt raven black hair and the ears... He was so malnourished that they poked out like ears of a rabbit. Or knives. It made the Inquisitor grin just for a second but then he made a disgusted noise and turned away.

"What had happened?"

Solas took a deep breath - clear indication that the story would be unpleasent and sat down, his face full of sorrow. Only now, with stray rays of light illuminating elf's face, Lavellan could see how tired Solas looked. His features showed lack of sleep as well as plenty of worry.

"The Inquisition died at Haven that day. Commander Cullen, in fear for your life no doubt, set the trebuchet before people could escape. Countless were buried under the snow."

A desperate scream. A twang of the release mechanism. A sound of death rolling down the mountain. He waited as much as he could but would not allow the Inquisitor to die .

"Then why am I here? Where this 'here' is?"

"It is better if you see for yourself," Solas stood up and once again offered the Inquisitor his hand. "Come."

Together they walked through desolate hallways till finally Solas opened the door and waves of light poured in, making Valmyrion gasp and turn away. Blindly he stumbled after Solas, afraid to open his eyes in fear of getting blind. After a while, when the sunlight stopped burning, Lavellan carefully lifted his head up and looked around. They were standing on the battlements, the wind lazily tugging on their clothes. The sun was reflecting from countless mountains, making their snow - covered peaks shimmer like diamonds. Wherever this place was, it was definitely secluded enough not to be found. Below the battlements the Inquisitor saw large yard with what looked like old, half - collapsed stables. Several crumbled stairways led either inside the main section of the stronghold or on the upper levels.

"Welcome to Skyhold, Inquisitor. An ancient forgotten fortress, few remember existing."

"How do you know about it then?" suspicion in Valmyrion's voice rolled off Solas, like a water from the goose. The mage smiled calmly and turned towards the mountains in the west.

"I've heard the whispers in the Fade about this place and knew how to find it."

The Inquisitor felt tha Solas was not telling him something but he let it slide, for now.

"Are we... alone? Who made it out?"

"Cassandra, Varric, myself and about dozen of people that were lucky enough to be in the tunnel at the time."

That stung so badly. Haven had housed hundred, if not more. Volunteers, refugees, people he started to call friends. For the next question Lavellan had to muster all the courage he had, for he knew the answer but wanted to hear it.

"Dorian?"

Dorian Pavus. A handsome dashing Tevinter mage that had joined their group in Redcliffe, after the things went awry. They hit it off almost immediately. While the rest of the Inquisition was suspicious of the Tevinter presense in their camp, Valmyrion used his chance to learn more about the newcomer and his culture. Dorian had a lot to say, most of it not nice at all and by the end of the first day the Inquisitor was completely fascinated with the Tevinter. Dorian, in turn, seemed to take interest in a Dalish elf with sassy attitude, sharp tongue and bright mind. The evenings the Inquisitor could spare were spent either talking about literature or playing chess. One such evening a game of chess turned out to be particularly intense and eventually ended up in Lavellan's quarters. The thought made Valmyrion turn away from Solas, tips of his ears bright red in shame.

"I do not know. I came back to find the Anchor, I could not spare time for anyone else."

"I see."

Lavellan turned around and slowly started to make way back to his quarters. He felt dizzy, short of breath and wished he did not wake up at all. Cullen, Leliana, Dorian... All those people. He hit the wall, tearing the knuckle open, blood trickling from the scrape. Valmyrion was angry. Cullen made a mistake. He should have waited. One life versus so many.

 _I came back to find the Anchor_.

That is what he is. The Anchor with a person attached to it. Cullen wanted to preserve the means to end this nightmare, even at the cost of his own life and the lives of people who had entrusted themselves to the Inquisition. The anger gave way to self - pity and just for a moment Valmyrion wished he had never volunteered for this mission at all. However, his younger brother Mahanon, sweet, idealistic and slightly naive, wanted to leave the clan very badly and Valmyrion could not allow it. He made the Keeper see his way, using the position as an understudy to convince the elder that it would benefit the future of the clan to learn about humans as much as possible. But just imagining his brother going through the same fate sobered Lavellan up and he sighed, putting wounded knuckle to his lips and trying to stop the bleeding. The next moment the door flew open, making Valmyrion jump up and turn around.

"Solas, I..."

"Andraste's sweet ass, the Inquisor! You are awake, I can't believe it!"


	3. Chapter 3

**2.**

"Pardon my orlesian, Inquisitor , but you look like shit."

"Thank you, Varric. I feel like one, too."

"This," the dwarf laughed and tore a piece of meat from the flank of a mountain goat that was roasting on the fire. "I've missed dearly. Chuckles here does not provide for much entertainment."

"Your sense of humour is too crude for my taste, master Tethras." Solas eyed Varric for a moment before carefully cutting at his portion with a fork and a knife.

"You are the only one who thinks that..." the dwarf retorted and then snorted loudly. "Cutlery? Really?"

"Leave him alone, Varric," the Inquisitor took a juicy goat thigh that was offered to him and dug his teeth in it like his life depended on it. Frankly speaking, it did. Only now, eating this sligtly charred, delicious meat, Valmyrion realised how hungry he was. "I am glad to see you too."

While preparing the goat, Varric quickly updated Lavellan on his version of the events. Pretty much everything he said was already known to the Inquisitor. The confirmation that the Red Templars were digging up what was left of Haven was not surprising either, but it was troubling . Varric said he hadn't stuck around for long enough to see if anyone they knew had been found, but the enemy was clearly searching for survivors on both sides. When Valmyrion asked if Cassandra had come with them, the dwarf confirmed that she had indeed helped to carry the unconscious Inquisitor to Skyhold. After they had reached their destination, she did not linger for long and soon left, saying that she would try to gather and organise what Seekers she could find.

"Why did _you_ stay?"

Varric dried his mouth with the back of his palm and rubbed his stomach.

"Someone had to watch over you two. Solas here spent pretty much all his time by your bedside, sustaining you with magic. And when the rats ran out, me and Bianca went for a little walk."

"I did my best, Inquisitor." Solas bowed his head slightly. "What magic I had at my disposal I used to keep you alive. But the body needs to be nourished and you were wasting away. Another week or so and you would be beyond help." 

They were silent for a while, each in their own thoughts. As to Lavellan, he pondered his own mortality. He also felt conflicted whether to thank Solas for saving his life or just keep silent , for Valmyrion knew that it was the Anchor that the mage was preserving and not the host. In the end he decided, as in many other cases, to swallow his pride. Whatever Solas' intentions were, it resulted in Lavellan staying alive.

"Thank you."

Solas nodded once again and smiled awkwardly. The Inquisitor stood up, or at least tried to. The food gave him the boost of energy he needed but the muscles were still poorly accustomed to the newly found need of movement and so Valmyrion swayed and had to grab on to something. He caught Varric's sympathizing stare and curled his hands in the knuckles so tight, they hurt. Pity. He did not need it, nor wanted it. He just needed time. 

"What are you going to do, Varric?"

The dwarf looked into the fire for a while and pushed aside his unfinished food. The atmosphere had cooled down and everybody seemed to lose their appetite.

"I'll make it back to Kirkwall. There are some individuals that can help me locate Hawke," Lavellan opened his mouth but Varric raised his finger in the air, interrupting him. "I know what you are going to say. I should know where she is. However, I've been out of the loop this whole time and could not track her movements."

"This is not what I was going to ask," retorted the Inquisitor in a slightly aggravated fashion, he was not very happy when people were putting words in his mouth. "Why do you need Hawke? I thought you told Cassandra..."

"I told that scary woman many things, not all of them were true," Varric grinned, obviously very proud of himself. Lavellan thought that somewhere far away Cassandra was swept by an impending feeling of being cheated. "Right before the... err... events at Haven, I've heard some curious rumors regarding the Grey Wardens. Hawke has some contacts amongst them and I thought she could shed some light."

"Grey Wardens?" Solas suddenly got interested in the conversation and turned towards the dwarf.

"Nothing concrete. Just Wardens suddenly regrouping and going silent. But then again, they do so after every Blight. Hard to imagine that whatever happened in Vimmark..." Varric abruptly fell silent and poked the fire with a stick.

Valmyrion finally straightened himself up and came to sit by the fire yet again. Outside the rain had started and the wind was howling under the roof, making the Inquisitor move even closer to the warm and inviting flames.

"What happened where?"

"Like I said, nothing special. Hawke stumbled upon darkspawn. Hawke killed the darkspawn but, as is appropriate, had notified Wardens what took place." something in Varric's voice did not sit right with Lavellan. He had the same feeling as back in Haven, when he tried to figure the origins of the name for the dwarf's crossbow. Sure, Varric satisfied Lavellan's curiosity but he knew how to pick his answers.

"Our course is clear," Valmyrion looked at his left palm, faint flashes of green were wandering underneath the skin. "We need to continue what we had started. There are rifts to be closed, there are..."

"Inquisitor, you have to be realistic," Solas frowned, disapproval oozing from his whole being. "The state you are in prevents us from going anywhere. As to closing the rifts..."

"As much as it pains me to say this, Chuckles is right." 

"So we just sit here? Eat rats and watch the world burn? Because of my _condition_ ? By the Dread Wolf , this is such..." Valmyrion cursed in elven and rubbed his temples. "By the time I am well enough, everyone else will be not. I refuse to sit and wait. We need to find Cassandra and her Seekers. We need the Champion of Kirkwall too."

"You close even _one_ rift, you endanger yourself and everyone around you. Plain and simple," Solas did not even try to mask his growing dissatisfaction with the direction of Lavellan's thoughts. "The Anchor demands _a lot_ and you are _not_ able to provide it. If we leave you have to watch demons pour out of the tears in the Veil and do nothing. You think you can do that?" 

"Yes."

Anything to get out of this place. To act. The Elder One was still out there and nobody but Valmyrion could stop him. The Inquisition was dead but the Inquisitor was not.

"Restoring the Inquisiton is not the wisest choice," Varric broke the silence. "I am sure Hawke will be on board but building an army would attract some very undesired attention."

"As closing the rifts, when you are well. People might not know how you look like but they have heard what _Herald of Andraste_ can do."

"You are both right. The enemy thinks I am dead. Let it stay that way. We will find Cassandra and work up from there."  
Solas still did not look very happy but it seemed that at least Varric significally perked up due to Lavellan's enthusiasm.

"I can lend you my spy network, Inquisitor. I am no Leliana but I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

As short as the life of the newly found Inquisition had been, Leliana proved to be an invaluable asset. She was the first one that proposed Lavellan to be the official face of the Inquisition in order to inspire people, to the elf’s quiet horror. Leliana’s kind demeanor was just a small part of a graceful yet unstoppable war machine that worked from the shadows. Her help and her spy network would come in handy right now. Valmyrion had hoped that Leliana managed to get away, she was very resourceful. She was also very good at finding things that wished to remain hidden, however but no-one contacted the Inquisitor.

Valmyrion once again stood up, swayed back and forth for a second and finally regained his balance.

"If you manage to find people we know or anyone that can help, try to reach Cassandra, she will pass the news to us. When and if we find her." as optimistic as he was, the Inquisitor tried to keep himself grounded. It would take them quite some time to reach Orlais and seek out any tips on possible location of Cassandra and the Seekers.

Varric stood up as well, carefully picking up Bianca and headed towards the door.

"Well, since we've decided what to do, I'll take a nap, before heading out hunting. Our provisions won't shoot themselves, you know."


	4. Calpernia

**1.**

The warm wind kept lazily tugging at her clothes, throwing prickly speckles of sand against her bare arms. In retrospect, she should have prepared for this weather and brought some oils to soothe the skin. In retrospect. Calpernia sighed and resisted an overpowering urge to scratch her arm, where the skin was slowly starting to peel off. She felt warm and gross but the Teacher promised to show her something marvellous and Calpernia turned her gaze forward, where a tall gate with intricate pattern was hiding in the shadow of the cliffs that were surrounding this small valley. It seemed this once used to be a lush place, remainders of the trees still growing crooked and twisted here and there. What little information Calpernia had managed to gather, indicated that one of the Blights had swept up the place many years ago and the only sentient inhabitants of this place were the Grey Wardens up in Adamant Fortress to the west. When she asked the Teacher if they had to worry about the presence of the Wardens in the region, considering his... circumstances. He smiled at her - more a grimace then anything else - and answered that she should not bother about such things. Calpernia trusted him and ceased to worry, turning her attention back to the matter of the promised marvel.

As they approached the gate, her companion stretched out his hand and touched the gilded carvings. Very slowly the heavy doors slid open, revealing a small courtyard and yet another doorway. Calpernia was getting impatient and bit her lip in anticipation; she had seen several places of Old Imperium's glory since leaving Minrathous but it had been promised to her that this will be the pinnacle of genious, something to sway her off her feet. As they crossed the yard and her Teacher opened yet another door, a soft gasp left Calpernia's lips as she entered a hallway so tall, she hardly could see the ceiling.

"May I?"

A nod was the confirmation she needed and as she closed her eyes, Calpernia let all her senses slowly drift around. The presense of magic was everywhere. Every little nook and cranny was filled with energies, latent and yet still powerfull enough to draw on them. She saw people in an outfits recogniseable from the books she read at her old Master's house. They experimented. With magic. The vision had ended.

"What did you see?"

"Mages. Scholars of the True Imperium working on spells and rituals."

Her Teacher flicked his fingers and, one by one, the torches down the hallway lit up, illuminating an enormous hall further ahead.

"The way your skills grow with every passing day is wonder to behold, Calpernia."

She felt her face getting bright red. Calpernia cleared her throat and turned sligtly away, trying to hide the embarassment of being praised. She was proud of herself but getting compliments, as well deserved as they were, was still new to her and cost more getting used to the Calpernia had ever anticipated.

"I do my best," she stumbled for a second, almost calling him Master but angrily bit her tongue just in time. "Corypheus."

The hall ahead was as grand as she thought it would be. Multiple crumbled stairways, grotesque statues of dragons, shining dully in the fires of the torches, remains of what must have been beautiful mosaic that once decorated the walls. The decay was saddening but Calpernia's imagination soon painted her the colourful picture of how glorious this place had been. Books and scrolls. On tables, on the floor, even on the pedestals of the mighty dragon statues. Even now, under the thick layer of dust she spotted foliants, scattered carelessly. Calpernia wanted to grab and read each and every one of them, like a child in the china store, completely mesmerized by the shiny things around it, wanting to hold everything in its curious hands and see what they are made of.

"The spark in your eyes tells me enough. This is what you want to do. This is what _I_ want you to do."

Calpernia raised her gaze at Corypheus, her cheeks blushing slightly and eyes glimmering with feverish excitement. She did not have to hide her nature from him. He was the only one who really got to know what she is and around him her shell would crumble, revealing a curious child, whose years of misery did not take away her will to explore, to learn and to grow. She owed him everything.

"These lands carry the history of the better times, when the Imperium was a force to be reckoned with."there was a sadness in his voice. But sadness mixed with a well controlled anger. "Uncover what you can, Calpernia. Search high and low and learn, so when I ascend, you will be ready to stand by my side as an equal. A bright beacon to signal the new dawn of the Tevinter Imperium."  
And Calpernia agreed. Because this had been everything she ever wanted. From the moment she learned she had the gift of magic, this was her purpose and her right. She fought for it against all odds.

_But that was then._

The cold desert wind was rustling with a flapdoor of a tent, unable to get inside to blow the piles of papers from the desk. Calpernia released deep sigh and watched drops of wax sliding down the candle for a while. She lost count of how long she had been here. Corypheus was right, the place had been littered with ruins that dated themselves as far as the first Tevinter Imperium even though not all of constructions belonged to her countrymen. Once laboratory was throughoutly explored and somebody sucessfully botched a time warp experiment that Calpernia did not approve due to the involvement of blood magic, the Venatori moved on to other digs. One such had been a prison, that soon was discovered to had been holding mostly rebellious slaves and Calpernia's spirits dropped even further. She had appointed the overseer to that particular dig and refused to set her foot into that dreadful place. She wished there was a way to contact Corypheus but he would only seek contact if she was needed and that did not happen for a long while now. Being stranded in this unwelcome place, with no means to communicate with Corypheus was depressing. Even more so when Calpernia had discovered the reason the ancient magister was so lax about the very close presence of the Grey Wardens. Another Venatori cell leader, Livius Erimond, was tasked with handling the inhabitants of the Adamant Fortress. Calpernia's spies were reporting things she could not believe were happening due to Erimond's blood magic abuse. She despised blood magic in any for and she despised Erimond for being a groveling idiot and yet again, it seemed Corypheus was either unaware or did not really care what his own subordinates were up to.

"Lady Calpernia?"

"Yes?" she looked up at her assistant, Darius, a young elven scribe she pulled out from yet another Venatori shipments of so-called "goods". He was a youth of fifteen, scrawny built with green eyes and ginger hair.

"Naria Arterius of the Ferelden division sends news." he nervously rubbed his arms, looking slightly sideways and finally handed Calpernia a tightly rolled scroll. As she took it from his slightly trembling hands, Darius took a bow and exited in a hurry. Calpernia shrugged her shoulders and unrolled the parchment. She was fair but stern and her people knew that. They admired her but preferred doing so from afar. Sometimes Calpernia felt lonely and yearned for the days when she had equals to talk to but as a leader of this Venatori cell she had to uphold her position and prestige. That kept people in line and prevented them from doing things that Erimond seemed to be getting away with.

As she started reading Naria's report, her eyes got wider and wider, full with disbelief and, soon, disgust. How could this go on? Why is Corypheus silent? Why was she not informed? She had to see this madness for herself.

"Darius!"


	5. Chapter 5

**2.**

The journey was dreadful. Firstly, being confined to small spaces, no matter how comfortable they were, was pure torture. Calpernia took as many books with her as possible, trying to escape the non - stopping sound of horse hooves. A couple of times she ordered the carriage to stop and climbed out, walking somewhat away from the main road. Her annoyance was so great, Calpernia wished she could burn a tree or two, however that could attract unnecessary attention and she had to resist. Instead she wandered around, reciting random historical facts about Tevinter Imperium. As she was mumbling to herself a summary based upon studies of Magister Eredeus about the Imperium's involvement in the fall of Arlathan, one of her scounts soundlessly appeared from the shadows, making Calpernia almost visibly shudder in surprise. Almost.

"Lady Calpernia," the scout took a bow, his face hiding under the hood. "The road ahead is clear. Ferelden is a day ’s ride away."

A piece of good news at last. When Calpernia decided to undertake the journey herself, she knew it was not a simple feat - the road ahead was long and anything but safe. The tears in the Veil that she had observed in the west were much more numerous here. Calpernia remembered hearing from Corypheus that the ritual had failed. According to him, some elf had interfered and, unknowingly, acquired the Anchor for himself, creating the Breach. This was frustrating to say the least – she could not believe Corypheus was so careless to not double check every single corner of that temple. As to the intruder, it was simply infuriating to think some lowly mage claimed the power that was meant for gods. At first Calpernia and several of her mages tried to clear up the demons but had quickly learned that it was impossible to close the tears and the only sensible decision had been made - avoid them whatsoever. It cost her valuable time but it kept her people safe. She was also curious about Ferelden. Back at home people did not think highly of the southerners . The expressions like 'savages' and 'wet dog smell' were thrown around a lot. The Chantry, unlike in Tevinter, was strong amongst the unwashed masses and the mages were held accountable for everything - from milk gone sour, to the awakening of the Archdemon. And as to Tevinter Imperium, it was an ugly boil on the face of the world and the sole proof that Maker had abandoned His children. Or some similar type of nonsense. Calpernia was neither Andrastian, nor a worshipper of the Old Gods. She wanted to be free of any watchful eye and carve her own path, smiting the unworthy and uplifting the deserving with only own wit and skills to guide her. 

The scout was right. A day ride was what it took to arrive at Therinfal Redoubt, the fortress that had been chosen by the Red Templar General to serve both as training grounds for the new recruits and the main base of operation. On the way Calpernia noticed troublesome signs - the landscape was littered with red lyrium. She was familiar with the phenomenon, both from speaking to Corypheus and own research. What bothered her was how widespread it was. Red lyrium was pure poison, sooner or later it destroyed everything it came in contact with. She understood the necessity of it for building a strong and resilient, albeit short-lived army but poisoning the ground on which you walk... Calpernia had a hard time believing Corypheus would permit such wasteful behaviour.

As the portcullis was lifted , allowing the carriage and its escort to pass, Calpernia peeked through the window and observed the courtyard. It was packed with recruits, men and women, training. It looked so deceptively normal until she gazed more closely into their faces - pale skin, shimmering ruby eyes and bright-red veins, pulsating dimly under the skin. Their movements were faster, more precise and attacks came crashing down with an immense force she had never seen in warriors back home. It was hypnotizing to watch such a display of strength and yet Calpernia turned away, feeling repulsed. These people were no better than slaves back home. Worse even, for they willingly gave up their freedom for somebody else's cause. How many of these southerners really cared what Corypheus wanted to accomplish? None of them would see it come to pass. They lived from one dose of red lyrium to another, blindly following orders of their Red General. 

As soon as the carriage stopped, Calpernia threw the door open and jumped down, ignoring the outstretched hand one of the Venatori offered her. The templars did not flinch - none of them turned around to see what the commotion was. Calpernia frowned and looked over the courtyard, finally spotting a figure that was slowly descending down the stairs. Her first instinct was to rush towards the woman but Calpernia reminded herself that this was not who she is anymore. Pretending to examine her nails, she kept watching how the tall female in templar armor came closer.

"Lady Calpernia, I presume?" she asked politely, her eyes shining like a pair of coals.

"You presume right," Calpernia stared right back at the woman, even though templar's gaze was making her slightly uncomfortable. "As I've mentioned in the message, I would like to speak with your commander."

"You will address him as _the General_ , mage." corrected the female templar. Her tone, pleasant just a moment ago, displayed nothing but aggression and anger. Truth be told, Calpernia made an honest mistake, for the regular templars were officially overseen by a knight – commander. She, however, had very little patience for such a pointless attempt of displaying power. 

"Watch your tone, templar." said Calpernia icily, shooting an angry stare at her guide, who did not seem to care a single bit. As they entered the fortress, Calpernia distracted herself from burning an imaginary hole in the back of the female templar by looking around. The fortress was in a bad shape. Apparently it used to belong to the order of the Seekers of Truth but got abandoned a long time ago. Red templars that appropriated the place did nothing to repair the horrid condition it was in - rotting wooden panels and supporting beams were scattered all over the floor. The once beautiful tapestry hung dirty and torn from the walls. There was a faint smell of mould hanging in the air and Calpernia could hear water steadily dripping somewhere. Above all else, the presence of red lyrium was overwhelming - the pulsating red matter was protruding from the floor and, sometimes, from the walls. Being close to it felt like keeping your palm over the fire and feeling the intense heat of the flame. Calpernia did her best and tried to walk as far from the poisonous thing as possible but the hallway was not wide enough. The woman ahead, however, did not seem to feel any discomfort; sometimes she would put her palm on one of the crystal clusters and Calpernia noticed how the lyrium would start pulsating faster at the touch of the templar. 

"Wait here." without even turning around, the woman disappeared in one of the side-doors. Once again, Calpernia was alone and took her time to look around. A small room, slightly cleaner then the rest of the fortress. In one of the corners she noticed a pile of old oil paintings that, most likely, depicted previous Lord Seekers. On the wall, above a massive oak table, the templar symbol had been drawn in red paint. Or blood. Or red lyrium. Calpernia was disgusted and curious at the same time, but as she reached out to touch the symbol, one of the doors flew open.

"Calpernia, I assume."

It seemed that neither templars, nor their commanding officer had even a shred of politeness. Calpernia turned around and crossed her arms on her chest, staring at, who she thought to be, the Red Templar General.

" _Lady_ Calpernia to you, General."

"A _lady_ does not arrive uninvited," he answered and grinned but his eyes stayed cold and unwelcoming as he kept staring her down. "To what do I owe the _questionable_ pleasure?"

Calpernia looked straight into his face and angrily furrowed her brow.

"Who sanctioned this mindless and massive growing of red lyrium?"

"I am acting on direct orders from Corypheus himself, _lady_ Calpernia. The order that did not mention _you_ coming here and sticking this pointy nose of yours into _my_ business.

"Liar!" Calpernia hissed angrily and poked her finger into his chest, stubbing it on general's breastplate. "Corypheus would never allow such a despicable mess!"

Or would he? Calpernia remembered reading reports from Adamant Fortress and fuming at the mention of Erimond's blood magic abuse. She, of course, understood, that for what they were planning, the demon army was essential. But at some point it seemed that a day without blood sacrifice was a day wasted and Erimond completely engulfed himself in illusions of grandeur. Now she was in Ferelden and saw a similar picture going on with the red templar cell.

"When was the last time you spoke to Corypheus?"

The man rubbed his chin and pondered for a moment.

"It’s been a while."

Calpernia made a disgusted noise and rubbed her temples. She felt like Corypheus left her to babysit everyone. He, of course, did not but she could not believe he just left unsupervised cells to work on their own. To bring the end of chaos their organization needed structure but neither Corypheus, nor anyone but Calpernia seemed to care. This was a mess and she could not simply go back to Western Approach now. Her own operation, save some mishaps, was running smooth enough and she left trustworthy agents to oversee the digs. Erimond was out of her reach for now but she had arrived in Ferelden and it was time to try and salvage what was possible.

"I want to see how you run your operation here."

"Do you now? Perhaps if you ask me politely and not as if I'm one of your errand boys." once again an unpleasant smile crawled on Red General's face as he examined Calpernia from head to toe. She flushed in anger and returned his stare.

"Suit yourself." he shrugged his shoulders and opened the door.

Calpernia waited exactly a minute, taking a breather and imagining doing horrible things to the templar, before following him to what turned out to be a prison.


	6. Lavellan

**1.**

As they parted ways with Varric, who promised to let Lavellan know if he managed to find Hawke and her Grey Warden buddy. Varric, being his gossipy self, even dropped a hint that, last he heard, Hawke and the warden were hitting it off quite nicely.

"If you know what I mean." he winked.

Frankly, Lavellan knew neither of the parties involved but he humored Varric by putting a surprised face. According to the dwarf, Hawke liked men with a bit of Blight in them. Firstly, there was that half-baked Grey Warden and a mage by the name of Anders, who also happened to be the key figure in setting the mage rebellion in motion. When it _literally_ exploded in Hawke's face she was very much done with him.

By the time Varric had finished gossiping like a butcher's wife, Lavellan knew much more about Hawke's preference in men then he ever needed to. But the dwarf hungered for audience and so their descent down the Frostback Mountains was slow and anything but quiet. Valmyrion had to admit he felt very relieved when he finally waved Varric goodbye.

"This is the most talkative Child of the Stone I have _ever_ met." said Solas thoughtfully as he caught up with the Inquisitor. Through the majority of descent he kept himself in the Varric - free zone, pretending to cover the rear. As far as Lavellan was concerned, Solas pretty much threw him under a metaphorical carriage and, more then once, Inquisitor's keen elven ears caught quiet chuckling behing his back - Solas seemed to find Valmyrion's almost palpable suffering quite amusing. 

"We need to find Cassandra. She must know where the others are," Lavellan headed towards the misty grove ahead but Solas caught his arm - for a soft-spoken and mild mannered person he had an iron grasp.

"Wait. Before you go, there is something we need to discuss."

The Inquisitor stopped in his tracks and turned around to face his companion. Solas' face bore a concerned expression and he still had his hand on Lavellan's arm. The Anchor - bearing one.

"We will, no doubt, encounter the rifts along the way. _Do not close them._ "

Lavellan opened his mouth to object but said nothing, glaring at Solas and frowning.

"I understand that this is not what you want to hear, Inquisitor, but it is vital that we stay as hidden as possible. 

If you close a rift. Even _one_! The consequences..." he took a breather and finally let Lavellan go. "Might be more then we can handle."

Valmyrion rubbed his arm carefully and looked down at his hand. As a precaution, Solas made him wear a glove, to hide the faint green light that was pulsating under Inquisitor's skin. Back at Haven, the closer Lavellan would get to the rift, the brighter the light would shine and the more physical discomfort the Anchor caused its bearer.

"Solas, what you are asking.."

"Is an ugly necessity, Inquisitor."

"You are asking me to let innocents _die_!" the usually mild-mannered Lavellan shoved Solas in the chest but the elf managed to keep his balance. The Anchor, feeling the agression of its host, shot out an angry spark, making Valmyrion yelp in pain and surprise.

"If you die, there is no hope for anyone, Inquisitor. Sacrificing some is the lesser evil you have to be willing to do if we are to stop the Elder One." 

The waves of numbness in Lavellan's arm started to subside. He hated to admit that Solas was right. They were all alone and even if Inquisitor felt and looked much better since his awakening, they would not stand a chance against the enemy. While there was no proof that the Elder One was watching there was equally no proof that he was not. As long as the Anchor stayed hidden - so did the Inquisitor, for few outside Haven knew his face. Two 'knife-ears', one of them being Dalish, would attract some curious stares but not as much as 'the Inquisitor' would.

"You have a point, Solas," Lavellan muttered and briefly hung his head in defeat. "I... Will do as you say."

And so he kept his promise. During their travels through the forests of the Hinterlands they had encountered a couple of rifts but, to Lavellan's relief, they were quite far away from any villages. It seemed that the demons breaking through the Veil were still unable to fully escape the confinement of the rift. Every time they were near the distortion though, the Anchor would start glowing and sending waves of pain through the Inquisitor's arm. 

He was learning to cope with it better with much help from Solas, who taught him a couple of simple exercises to disconnect one's mind from physical body.

"We need to go to a tavern," said Lavellan, as they settled down for the night in yet another cave and were roasting a rabbit the Inquisitor caught earlier. As much as he did not like his brother insisting on Valmyrion learning how to hunt, it came in handy when he least expected it. "People in taverns talk. We might hear something about Cassandra."

"And what if people start talking about us instead?" as per usual, Solas was erring on the side of caution.

"A quirky elven couple had graced us with their presence. Want to bet the pretty halla rider is the bottom?"

Solas flushed and then grumbled something inaudible in elvhen. Lavellan pat himself on the back. If Dorian were here, he would definitely appreciate the saucy joke.

"Truly, Solas, this cave - dwelling will get us nowhere. The more we hide, the less time we have left to act. This 'Shadow War' will take its time to ripen. We need allies, people who can help us. And they are not to be found here." Valmyrion spread his arms in a dramatic fashion, almost touching the opposite walls with his fingertips. 

Solas was silent for a while, staring at the cracking fire. He finally released a sigh and looked at the Inquisitor.

"You are absolutely right. It is just... I spent so much time hiding and being on my own it is hard to put my faith in anyone but myself."

"You did it once, Solas. The second time is easier."

The sun was setting, painting the skies above them in fantastic colours. Inquisitor's neck was hurting from constantly staring upwards but he had missed being surrounded by nature like this. Back at home he and Mahanon would often take trips together - Valmyrion was studying and collecting herbs, while his brother prowled around in search for game. And also feathers. Many beautiful feathers that would later end up in Keeper's hands and Mahanon would pester his elder brother to explain in more detail what the new acquired piece of lore really meant. Good times.

A familiar tingle ran up the Inquisitor's arm; the same moment Solas stopped in his tracks and slowly scanned their surroundings. The forest was thinning and they were expecting to come out somewhere on the main road before the nightfall. Both elves glanced at each other and nodded, hastily walking towards the source of the disturbance they have felt. Solas' words rang in the Inquisitor's mind. A couple of dead bears near the secluded rifts he could live with. But a tear in the Veil on the open road...

First they saw the familiar green light, then they heard the screams. Lavellan's steady pace had turned to sprinting and before he knew it, the forest had stayed behind and they found themselves exactly where the Inquisitor dreaded to be - the rift had opened near a small inn by the side of the road. He could see ghostly silhouettes behind the windows. At least two rage demons were trying to get inside, the direct result of that being one corner of the inn catching fire. 

Lavellan had almost forgotten how right the staff felt in his hands. He had made it himself, the ironbark decorated with intricate carvings, most of which were in the honour of the gods. The staff was made for battle, light to carry and easy to swing around. With a growl of rage Valmyrion slammed it into the ground as he cast an ice spell, that darted off to the nearby demon. It screeched in pain and turned towards the offender. Something engulfed Lavellan in blue light - a barrier, cast by Solas, no doubt. They worked quite well as a team, Inquisitor had forgotten about that. They fought together once, on their way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes at the very beginning of this whole mess. Solas tried to pass himself as a pacifist and a scholar back then but as Lavellan observed the nomad elf twirling around and casting spells, as if in some beautiful dance, he was not so sure. Solas knew battle. And not just from his Fade dreams, it was the way only the one who felt the heat of battle knows. Before too long the demons were dealt with but the rift was still active.

"Inquisitor!"

"I will deal with whatever comes, Solas! I _need_ to do this!"

There was something in the nomad's eyes... A trace of relief. He did not want to see innocents dead any more then Lavellan did. Perhaps, would the roles be reversed, Solas would walk away but it was not his decision to make. The Inquisitor lifted his left hand and the Anchor hungrily pulled at the tear, absorbing its energy, making it smaller by the second. There were faces glued to the windows of the inn, people were watching. The pulses of pain in his arm became almost unbearable when finally the rift had exploded into an array of green sparks. It was done. Exhausted and trembling, Lavellan fell on all four.

* * *

Writing reports had never been his thing. So mindnumbingly painful. Even more so when there is no-one to read them but that witch Calpernia. He stared at the feather angrily and finally crumpled it in his fist, throwing the pitiful remains of it aside. The door flew open and one of his templars rolled in, panting.

_As green as grass._

"General! One of the Venatori said a rift had been closed two days ride away from here."

The Red Templar General stood up and grabbed his sword, fastening it at the belt.

"We're heading out."


	7. Chapter 7

**2.**

The noise from downstairs woke him up. Valmyrion's eyes flew open and he sat up, looking around the dark room. As the events of the previous night slowly came back to him, the Inquisitor cracked his knuckles, noticing that the left glove was missing. For a while Lavellan just sat there, staring at his mutilated palm, where green strains of light were slowly pulsating under his skin. The laughter and the music from downstairs were getting louder and more frantic and so Valmyrion got out of bed, feeling every muscle protesting against such a feat. He opened the door and was greeted with a smell of pig roast, wine and sweat - the heart of the tavern. A familiar song drifted in the air, one of the many sang by the bard in Haven's tavern. Seeing that the song made it out, hopefully so did the creator. As soon as Lavellan got down the stairs, silence fell across the big room and everyone's head turned in his direction. Not sure how to act, the Inquisitor gave his most charming smile, meanwhile desperately trying to spot Solas in any of the dark corners the elf usually fancied so much.

"All hail the Herald of Andraste!"

A shrill cheer broke the silence, sending the patrons into a happy frenzy. Valmyrion walked through the room, people petting him on the shoulders and, occasionally, on the butt. Eventually he found Solas, sitting away from the crowd and visibly sulking.

"I'm listening."

Solas took a deep breath and shot an angry stare at Lavellan, who had settled down on the other side of the table with a plate of food he just got from someone.

" _This_ is what I meant when I asked you to avoid rifts."

"You looked quite relieved I did not listen."

"I did not wish to see these people dead any more than you did," Solas looked straight into Lavellan's eyes, making the Inquisitor shift in his seat uncomfortably. "But it was the _necessity_ , the lesser evil. Whatever happens now - is a direct consequence of your decision. I hope you are prepared to see it through."

Lavellan said nothing and pushed his plate towards the middle, inviting Solas to eat as well. Ultimately, the elf was right and Valmyrion did mess up their plan to stay hidden. On the other hand, it was but a tavern by the side of the road and it was hard to imagine news would spread quickly enough. But, eventually, they would. And once news reached Redcliffe, they might as well reach the ears of the Elder One. Lavellan bit his lip, irritated with himself. The Anchor felt that and shot an angry spark up the Inquisitor's arm.

"Kaffas," he mumbled and then grinned. First thing Dorian did, when his _amatus_ expressed interest in learning some basic Tevene, was to teach Valmyrion the many curse words his native language had to offer. 

"As if you know what you are talking about." he grumbled, staring at the table.

Solas straightened his back and smiled, but it did not reach his eyes - a trait Lavellan noticed a while ago. Back when they first met, Solas smiled a lot in that calm and polite manner of his but even then the eyes always stayed the same - distant and sad.

"You are young, Inquisitor, but through the course of our lives we eventually come across a situation that offers us a choice that we _have_ to make, unpleasant as it is."

"There is always a way out, Solas."

"Only naïve think that way," the elf shook his head and reached out for a piece of bread. "Is this your way out? You chose to save a handful of people, possibly damning the rest of the world."

"This conversation is going nowhere." Lavellan abruptly stood up, staring angrily at his companion. "I admitted you have a point. But what's done, is done. Now, if you excuse me."

Valmyrion marched out and slammed the tavern door behind him, regretting it a moment later. Behaving like a child did nobody any favours, but Solas was not the type of person to keep silent when things took an undesirable direction. Once again, the Inquisitor caught himself thinking of Dorian. For all the vain and self-absorbed behaviour the Tevinter displayed, he also was a good listener even though back at Haven Lavellan had little to complain about, save Chancellor Roderick giving him a major stink eye. Now, when Dorian's reassuring embrace would be ever so welcome, Valmyrion found himself alone, with no-one to turn to. It was cold outside and the Inquisitor shivered, watching puffs of smoke leaving the tavern's chimney. 

He was about to go back inside when Valmyrion heard something. The Dalish, were much more in tune with their surroundings then the humans or the city elves. Even being away from the forest and the clan, the instincts stayed strong, giving the elves higher survival rate than their counterparts at the alienages. Lavellan took a few steps away from the tavern and listened to the night. Moments ago there had been bugs buzzing in the distance and critters shuffling in the grass. Now there was nothing but silence. The next moment he was walking through the door towards Solas.

"Something is coming, the air is dead. We have to get the people out of here."

"And go where?"

"Does not matter. Away from _here,_ " Valmyrion clenched his fists and climbed onto the table. No one paid him attention and so he clapped his hands, watching Solas disappearing behind the door. "People, this area is not safe, you have to go the woods immediately."

"I think that rift hit the Herald pretty hard.." whispered someone not far way.

"By rift you mean ale, mate."

"Please, put your trust in me. It is dangerous to stay here much longer." Lavellan tried really hard to ignore stinging comments, he fully realised how weird and sudden it sounded. For better or for worse the moment the Inquisitor opened his mouth again, a burning arrow broke the window and set one of the drapes on fire. That alone was the reason enough for people to jump up and dash madly towards the exit. Just as Valmyrion was ready to jump off the table, someone rammed into him, making the elf loose his balance and fall, hitting his forehead on one of the chairs. The world spun out of focus and went black.

The heat on his face and the screaming outside. Lavellan lifted his head and groaned as it pounded like a fine Avvar drum. 

"Inquisitor!" the door flew open as Solas ran towards him."We have to get out of here, the Red Templars are outside and they are..."

Solas' last words were drowned by a large crack as one of the burning beams gave in and fell on the floor, spewing charred splinters all over the place. Coughing, they got out of the building, moments before the rest of the ceiling came crashing down. Valmyrion gripped his staff and looked around, trying to assess the situation and stop his head from hurting. People everywhere, running and screaming and a handful of Red Templars trying to herd them in one place, like some sort of cattle.

"Inquisitor, they are distracted, _we have to go!_ "

"Solas are you _insane_? We can't leave these people!"

"For once, listen to me! If you perish, so does the Anchor and any hope to stand against the Elder One! How many times do I need to repeat this!?"

"I am not a _thing_ to keep safe so that you can flail me at the Elder One when it suits _you_!"

Lavellan spun on his heels and sped towards the mass of struggling bodies ahead. Soon enough he singled out the figure standing away from the massacre , leaning on the shield and observing. It must have been the leader and the truth was, that if you take out the head, you cripple the body. Hiding in the shadows, the Inquisitor circled around the templar and as he found himself behind enemy's back, he cast a fire spell. But the templar was quick. In one fast motion the man spun around and used his shield to deflect the incoming spell. As he straightened up, the light of the dying spell fell on his face, making Valmyrion gasp and step backwards.

"C... Cullen!"

The Commander was dressed in templar armor with a red sword painted on the breastplate. The left part of the sleeve was completely removed, exposing a growth of red lyrium that looked like a fancy epaulet, would it not be protruding directly from Cullen's shoulder. His skin was pale, in the light of the moon it looked almost white, with red veins dimly pulsating underneath it, on the left side of his face. His eyes, once brown in colour, were now burning like two coals. And he looked as surprised as Valmyrion was.

"You... are alive?!"

What happened next was completely unexpected and, of course, Solas was not around to see Lavellan's self-preservation instinct finally kicking in. With an almost animalistic growl, Cullen grabbed his sword and launched at the Inquisitor.

"You filthy son of a whore! _I saw you die!_ How can you be here?!"

Valmyrion ducked and barely avoided the blade. A strand of black hair fell on the ground.

"You, maleficarum... Parasite! I sacrificed _so much_ to stop you and yet _here you are_!"

He swung his sword, making Lavellan jump backwards, stumble and almost fall on the ground. Nothing that Cullen said made any sense. Valmyrion was so stumped , all he could do is try to avoid the attacks.

"Cullen, you are making no sense! I am not a blood mage..."

"So said every filth I've ever met! I should have _never_ trusted a mage!"

Another blind swing and Cullen's sword got wedged in the trunk of the tree the elf was covering behind. As the templar struggled to take it out, Lavellan rolled out of cover and started running as fast as he could, eyes wide open in disbelief and shock, Cullen's words echoing behind him.

"Run fast, _Inquisitor_. I will find you and you will answer for everything you did."


	8. Cullen

**1.**

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Could it be... months? Here, in the cells, the time stood still. Those moments Cullen did not spend in delirious haze, he spent reciting the Chant of Light. It kept him occupied. He did not have to think about what had happened. In truth, it had been _diffucult_ to think at all. The pain settled down quite a while ago. At first Cullen blamed the wound on his shoulder, it would not heal properly and even though the bandages were mysteriously changed from time to time, it brought little relief. But it is when his joints and bones themselves started to ache the realisation dawned upon him.

_Lyrium withdrawal._

Funny how these things happen. Back at Haven it had been this little voice at the back of his mind, telling Cullen he should quit. But they were in the middle of a war and he wanted to be at his very best. For the Inquisition.

_The Inquisition._

His memory was muddled. Every time Cullen tried to recall something, it would send shockwaves through his head, making him groan in pain and drop on the thin layer of straw in the corner of the small cell. What came through was... bad. Kirkwall level of 'bad' and so Cullen would go back to the Chant, his only comfort right now.

Water and bread he received from a silent jailer stopped sating his hunger. This is when Cullen started hearing the Song. He had heard the call of the lyrium before - it was not uncommon for a young templar to forget his next potion, scatterbrained youth he had been. But this... this was different. Strong, dark and hypnotising. An itch so nagging you cannot ignore it. Several times Cullen caught himself tugging on the bandage around his shoulder but managed to stop. This time he snapped out of it just to find the tips of his fingers digging deep into the wound, blood running down his arm. The pain shot through his body but it felt good, for the Song had fallen quiet.

Just to return the next day.

_Red. It is red._

His jailer was a templar. Nobody Cullen knew, but a templar should have lyrium. Many times he was just a second away from begging his caretaker for at least a drop. But he refused to be like that. Like a dog on the streets begging for scraps.

_Like Samson._

He would _not_ end up like _him._ Pitiful shell of a man, purposelessly living from one dose to another and biding his time to die. And so Cullen sat in the corner of the cell, drenched in cold sticky sweat and feverishly reciting the canticles, while mindlessly staring at the wall.

And then one day _he_ had arrived.

As Cullen slept, his dreams nothing but the Song, something stirred outside his prison, making him jump up. The _thirst_ took everything out of him and as quickly as he stood up, Cullen had to grab the wall to support himself. It took him a moment to focus his sight and when he did, all air left his lungs as he stumbled backwards, flattening himself against the wall.

Tall and ghoulishly thin, monstrous clawed creature, dressed in a remains of a robe. A darkspawn. The Elder One.

_Blessed are they who stand before  
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

The creature came closer and, without a single word, thrust its arm between the bars, its claws stopping an inch away from Cullen's wide - open eyes.

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker's will is written._

The last words were mere whispers, falling from his lips but the creature heard him. One of the claws lifted Cullen's chin, so that his eyes met the unblinking gaze of the Elder One.

"Tell me something about Maker's will, Commander. Was it His will _she_ sided with the mages, even after seeing what Uldred did to your brothers and sisters? And did His will guide Meredith down the path she had taken? And lastly, was it His will that elevated your preposterous _Herald of Andraste_?"

Cullen jerked his head upwards and to the side, trying to get away from the menacing claws.

"How do you know all this?" he hissed, boiling with anger. Those memories were painful but they were his. Neria's pale gentle features as she shakes her head sadly and refuses to understand. Meredith, signing orders to make yet another mage Tranquil for daring to raise his voice at the Templar. And the Inquisitor slashing his palm as he tries to cast a spell, malicious grin on his face. Cullen trusted them all and they all had _failed_ him when they were needed the most.

"You pray to your Maker and does he ever answer?" the voice of the creature seeped through, a slight trace of glee in it.

"He... doesn't." these words fell from his lips before he even realised it. Cullen dedicated all his life to the Chantry and to the Templar Order and it brough nothing but nightmares. Being an obedient templar meant not questioning the world around him, it meant being a magi guard dog on a short lyrium leash.

_Mages_

"The _Herald_ chose the mages, did he not?" the Elder One watched him closely, only now Cullen noticed that the claws were gone. "You helped him as best as you could, Commander, and he ignored the voice of reason. How does it feel to elevate a tyrant?"

"He wasn't..." Cullen stuttered for a moment and then slid down the wall, clutching his head with both hands.

***  
The sounds of battle around them, the screams of the dying tearing the air.

"Inquisitor, _don't_!"

"Get out of my way, Commander! This is not over until _I_ say this is over!"

A small dagger glimmers in the elf's hand. Crimson spatters on the snow and Inquisitor's voice chanting a spell.

"No!!" he pushes the Inquisitor hard enough to make him stop casting.

The elf stumbles backwards, his face distorted with fury.

"You dare?! _I am the Herald of Andraste! I_ am the only one who can do this! You all are _nothing_!"

Lavellan slashes at Cullen with the dagger and he is too slow to react, dagger digging deep into the shoulder, right between the armor plates. The next attack he is ready for. The Inquisitor is not a melee fighter and so next time the elf swings, Cullen disarms him swiftly, ignoring pulsating pain in his shoulder and drives the dagger through Lavellan's stomach.

"If I go you _all_ go down with me!"

A fire spell burns the rope. The twang of the release mechanism.

***  
"I trusted him!" he screamed, jumping up and latching onto the bars of his cell. The sorrow hurt more than the body did. "And look where it got me."

Cullen's raspy laughter bounced off the walls and he let go of the bars, helplessly falling on his knees.

"I offer you a choice, Commander. Die in this cell like a dog. Or join me."

"Join you? _You?_ A darkspawn?"

The Elder One just kept looking at him, without moving, without blinking.

"This word is unclean. _I_ shall cleanse it and bring the dawn of a new era. But I grow tired of meddlers and the monster _you_ had a hand in creating is not dead just yet. _Make it right._ " 

He saw the Inquisitor die but there were others. They all followed him blindly like a herd of sheep. An elven mage whose thirst for grandeur had blinded him. Who claimed to be the Herald of the god he did not even believe in. _A despicable maleficar._

Cullen said nothing be he did not have to. His trembling hand had outstretched through the bars and a familiar shape of a vial landed in Cullens palm. Heavy crimson liquid sloshed lazily against its glass walls.

_So warm So beautiful..._

******  
And this is an illustration was made by the awesome voidwithin (aka my lore and atmosphere beta) over at Tumblr. Go check her out, for her monsters are fabulous.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/Angel_Trent/media/Mobile%20Uploads/cory_cullen_zpsogj9nc9n.png.html)


	9. Chapter 9

**2.**

How was the Inquisitor still alive? His wounds were too grave to survive... Unless with blood magic... But no, for that to work Lavellan would have needed a sacrifice and there was nobody else with them at the trebuchet. 

_Then how, dammit?!_

These thoughts were running through Cullen's head as he and his men were making their way towards Storm Coast where the Seekers had been last sighted. The missive had not been clear if Cassandra was amongst them, but Cullen knew that their numbers were few. Even fewer after several ambushes by his men. Captured Seekers proved to be useless due to the lyrium resistance, but Cullen managed to get some interesting information out of them. As to Pentaghast, she was nothing short of a mother hen to her charges and, almost certainly, would be nearby. 

The horse whinnied and reared slightly, unwilling to carry its rider. The animals sensed the red lyrium and had been misbehaving since the templars left Therinfal Redoubt. Cullen had changed his steed twice already and it started to seriously irritate him. The General furiously dug his metallic spurs into horse's sides, making the animal rear yet again.

"Piece of shit that you are!" he hissed under his breath, as he felt familiar headache creeping up.

The pain had become a part of him since he had accepted that very first vial from Corypheus. The normal lyrium made its presence known only if the user had been deprived of it for too long. Red lyrium made sure once you started taking it, you could never go back. Cullen tried not to remedy his aches too often, for red lyrium fed on itself and would take over his body very quickly if he indulged. There were still many things that had to be done and Cullen had to stay alive long enough to see them through. Something warm dribbled down his lips and he licked it off.

_Nosebleed, again._

That was the sign number two. The final sign manifested itself in many forms but was always accompanied by a mindnumbing migraine. Last time his eyes had started bleeding, scaring some of the more inexperienced recruits. Quietly cursing, Cullen took one glove off and rubbed the blood away. Once they arrived, he'll take the next draught. Should not be long now.

"General!"

One of the templars separated from the group and approached him, his horse being as difficult as Cullen's was.

"Sir, the lookouts report that Seekers had retreated to their hold."

"What is the bloody point of any lookouts if the Seekers can see them?!" Cullen's patience was hanging by a thread.

"They claim they had been as discreet as possible, sir."

So Cassandra knows they are coming. Cullen clenched his fists in aggravation. He, however, possessed the amount of soldiers Pentaghast did not have and if taking them by surprise was out of question, the numbers and brute force would do the trick. Cullen looked forward to it - he never liked the Seekers. No templar did - their abilities to use magic-cancelling skills without lyrium was a painful subject for the many within the Order. The feeble hope of being recruited right before the Vigil had soured many of his brothers and sisters. Once you had taken your first lyrium potion, the dream was dead.

Since the Seekers were aware of their presence, Cullen had to set a camp and re-evaluate the strategy. He knew Cassandra would not come for him - her best bet was defence, it would be no different if they caught her by surprise. This is where battering ram came in handy. Frankly, nothing had changed. The Seekers being notified was a minor nuisance, the resistance would be harder but not by much. Cullen would still see the lookouts punished, for he despised incompetence. 

With stiff fingers he rummaged in his belongings for some lyrium. His left shoulder, the one the Inquisitor had driven a dagger through, was the first to show the signs of crystal growth. Thankfully it was his shield - holding arm and the reduced mobility did not cause too much inconvenience. The pattern and the speed of growth suggested that in a few months the arm would completely disappear under the thick crystal layer. Cullen hated it, he hated to look at himself so much, it took great effort to learn how to shave without the mirror.

_Ah, there it is._

He held the small vial with right hand and carefully unscrewed the bottle top with his teeth, letting the cork fall somewhere on the ground. The liquid burned his throat and Cullen sucked in the air through clenched teeth, trying to ease off the unpleasant feeling. Then came the warmth, that spread from his stomach and all over his body, making the General exhale happily, as the migraine subsided. He picked up a book and took a parchment out of it. The drawing depicted the birth of the Inquisition - himself, Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine standing besides the, back then, Herald of Andraste. One of the Chantry sisters had sketched it and Cullen had a hard time remembering how it ended up in his hands. It was almost offensive to look at their happy and proud faces. Leliana's face had been crossed out with red ink. Till the very end she had revealed nothing and Cullen, tired of her ridiculous games and running out of healthy skin he could mutilate, had finished the Inquisition's Spymaster off. He dipped his finger into the remains of the red lyrium and circled Cassandra's face. 

"You are next."

***

"Lady Cassandra!", one of the Seekers ran in."The Red Templars are here! The are going to break through the gates!"

She turned around, dressed in full armor, a morningstar in her hand. 

"Daniel, command the men to take their positions. We make a stand."

The Seeker nodded and retreated hastily, sounding the alarm. Cassandra picked up her shield and started into the fire for a moment, dancing flames reflecting in her tired eyes.

"Maker, give me strength..."

***

The gate gave in soon enough, rotten as everything here at Storm Coast. His templars had their orders - kill everyone but Cassandra, she was to be his trophy in all this. As Cullen crossed the courtyard, his eyes peeled for any enemy, he was satisfied to see his soldiers doing an excellent job at keeping the Seekers away from him. Pentaghast could have been anywhere but the experience indicated that just like him, she was not a fan of close quarters fights.

"I knew that eventually you would come for me."

Her voice sounded from behind, making Cullen turn around. Cassandra stood in the middle of the courtyard in her full Seeker armor. It did not escape his notice that she looked tired. All the better.

"Once I hoped for the same."

"Cullen..." Cassandra winced, pity in her eyes. He did not need her pity anymore. He _never_ needed it.

"Oh but I was not the _only_ one, you know," he grinned wickedly, staring right at her. "Sister Nightingale cried out your name more then once, as I burned that pretty face of hers."

Cassandra said nothing but her gaze had darkened and she curled her fist around the morningstar on her belt. Cullen, his mouth twitching in anger, slammed his shield into the ground and unsheathed his sword.

"I do not have all day, Cassandra!"

"Neither do I, _Commander_."

She sprung at him so fast, Cullen managed to cover with a shield just in a nick of time. He had forgotten how fast Seekers are. Their armor and weapons were designed to be durable but not to weight them down, unlike templars, who were compared to walking fortresses for a reason. Cassandra danced around him, landing hit after hit, making Cullen go on the defensive. Finally he had beckoned several of his templars towards them, making the Seeker temporarily distracted but long enough for him to throw the shield aside and tackle the damn woman. They fell and Cullen pressed her to the ground, yanking a small dagger out and aiming at her throat. Cassandra's fingernails dug into his neck and as he was ready to stab her, a jolt of indescribable pain shot through his body. Cullen screamed and tried to pull away but the woman latched onto him as a leech. It felt as if every fiber of his being was on fire.

"Snap out of it, you are being used! The Elder One had lied to you, Cullen! You and your templars are disposable to him! Whatever was done to you, it must..."

And then a shockwave shook the air around them. Cassandra used the Purge, magic-nullifying ability he was all too familiar with. Why would she... That moment Cullen could swear he _felt_ something breaking inside him. His vision blurred and he grabbed Cassandra by the wrists, clenching them so hard they cracked, making her cry out in pain and release him.

" _Get out of my head!!_ " he screeched. Confused and weaponless, he got hold of the Seeker, his body still reeling from the pain and in one swift motion he twisted her neck. The pain stopped as abruptly as it started. 

Next, came the darkness.


	10. Dorian

**1.**

It had to be something big, if it attracted the Commander's attention. He still referred to the Red General by his previous rank within the Inquisition - an annoying force of habit that had gotten him in trouble a couple of times before. Dorian _had_ to know what made the Red Templars and servants alike to scurry around and prepare the horses. His first thought would be to cast a tracking magic on the General but it had failed before - Cullen had found out and cancelled it, disciplining every Venatori within his grasp, without caring who had actually cast it. This time he waited till the squad had left the village and jumped in the saddle himself. One of the templars at the gates blocked his way.

"No one leaves. General's orders!"

"Do you know who I am, imbecile?" Dorian barked at him, trying to calm the horse down - the animals disliked the presence of the Red Templars as much as the humans did. "I act on Lady Calpernia's orders. Take it up with her, I have no time for this!"

He dug his heels into the horse's flanks, making the animal race out of the camp, almost trampling the unlucky guard. Soon enough, he heard the rhythmic sound of the horse hooves and urged his steed to a slower pace - it would be a very bad idea to get caught. The General had an infamous lack of tolerance towards mages and Dorian deserved his special hatred on account of being previously associated with the Inquisition.

He followed the templars, took breaks when they did and finally, after what felt like an eternity, they seemed to have arrived at their destination. A lonely inn by the side of the road. Dorian let his horse graze and snuck to the bushes to see and hear better. He was still quite far away but did not dare to come any closer. Cullen signalled the archers and a row of burning arrows hit the air, some landing on the straw roof of the building and others breaking the windows and setting the drapes aflame. People inside started screaming and the doors of the inn flew ajar, panicked shadows pouring outside.

"Move out!" commanded the General and started walking, his soldiers close behind him, picking up the speed.   
Dorian frowned. So far it looked like a trivial raid. The Red Templars constantly needed people for the mining and growing of red lyrium, but the humans had the audacity to expire quickly. As a result, every so many days the templars would raid a village for more fresh meat. But the presence of Commander Cullen in the field was unusual. He had never bothered to attend such activities. Even now, as his soldiers were rounding up the future 'workforce', the man stood aside, watching them do their job.

And then Dorian felt a tingle on his skin, right before he saw spells being cast from within the crowd. There were mages in there. One of them snuck up behind the General and Dorian saw the templar shield himself from the incoming spell. The mage who did that must have been very brave or very stupid. Curiosity took the better of him and Dorian started to slowly walk around the opening, trying to stay hidden behind the trees as much as possible.

"...ve _never_ trusted a mage!" Cullen's voice was trembling with fury, as he tried to pull out the sword he wedged deep into the tree. Dorian squinted to see better, just in time to notice a small figure rolling out of cover and darting off into the woods.

"Run fast, _Inquisitor_. I will find you and you will answer for everything you did!"

Dorian froze, his heart beating so fast, he had to press his hands to the chest. There was no mistake, he had heard the Red General addressing his opponent as 'the Inquisitor'.

_Inquisitor. Alive._

Dorian madly dashed towards where he saw the small figure disappear between the trees. 

***

When Solas caught up with the Inquisitor, Valmyrion was standing in the middle of a small meadow, fireball at the tips of his fingers. When the Inquisitor saw the familiar face of his companion his guard had dropped and with a quiet hiss the fire had turned to smoke, disappearing into thin air. His face expressed dozen emotions at the same time and he mumbled something to himself. Solas caught a name being repeated over and over again.

_Commander Cullen._

"Inquisitor, get a hold of yourself." he put a hand on Valmyrion's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. 

"Apologies... I... It's just that - " the elf fumbled with words and finally fell silent, inhaling loudly and rubbing his temples. "The things he said, it can't be!"

Solas wanted to reply but said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he snapped his head sideways.

"We are not alone. Show yourself!"

***

He should have thought this through before racing after the Inquisitor. Dorian did not count on anyone else accompanying Valmyrion and the second person being that elf, Solas, complicated things even further. This one distrusted everything and everyone. So when the apostate looked in his direction, urging him to come out, Dorian cursed under his breath and walked from behind the bushes with his hands up in the air. But his gaze was fixed at Lavellan, whose face lost all colour, eyes wide in shock.

"Inquisitor, we have to talk. But without this _thing_ in my face." Dorian carefully tried to redirect Solas' staff elsewhere. The elf, did not seem to agree with that plan.

"Inquisitor, don't come near him. He is with the Venatori!"

Solas was not wrong. The most incriminating evidence of all was the atrocious Venatori uniform Dorian was wearing. He hated the moment he donned it and now, once again, it made his life extremely difficult.

"Do you _really_ think I would do _him_ any harm?" Dorian turned towards the Inquisitor, desperation in his eyes. "Valmyrion, _amatus_ , you _know_ me."

These few seconds looking in each other's eyes seemed like an eternity. Dorian released a sigh of relief when the Inquisitor put hand on Solas' shoulder.

"I believe him. It's okay."

The apostate's face told that it was foolish to do so but he stood down, watching them both like a hawk. Dorian, meanwhile, watched Valmyrion walking towards him. The Inquisitor had seen better days - scrawny, dirty and looking exhausted. But then the smile had illuminated his face and as the small elf put his palms on Dorian's cheeks, everything felt right again. They were together. 

_Two pieces of the whole._

"I thought you were dead.." Valmyrion exhaled, as he pulled away from Dorian's lips.

"Now that's just hurtful." Dorian grinned widely, running his fingers through his lover's hair. "I am too pretty to die."

"Why are you dressed like this?"

"I ask myself this question every day. Bad taste all over." Dorian chuckled but then his face became serious, fingers absentmindedly stroking Valmyrion's cheek. "I had to choose. This or death. As soon as I got the chance to run - I did. And I have been hiding ever since."

"Then why keep the robes?" Solas was oozing suspicion. "To avoid detection, a weird outfit is a rather poor choice, wouldn't you say?"

Dorian glared at the bothersome elf and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, explains why you are dressed in... whatever this is," he flicked his fingers in Solas' direction and turned back to Valmyrion. "Pretty much all of Ferelden is under Red Templar control. They see a Venatori - they let me be. 'Colleagues' and all that nonsense."

"Red Templars..." the Inquisitor muttered. "Cullen leads them! _Why?_ It makes no sense!"

"Valmyrion, Commander Cullen is... not well."

"Then we have to help him!" Lavellan broke free and started pacing up and down, squeezing his fingers nervously. "He used to be our Commander! _A friend._ "

Dorian sighed. That was the Inquisitor alright - a knight in shining armour, ready to do whatever he can to help people in need. If only he knew... Things Dorian had heard, things he had seen... The mere memory made him shudder.

"I am sorry." he said quietly, watching how Valmyrion stopped in his tracks, eyes fixed on the ground. "Cullen is not the same anymore. _Things_ have been... done to him. He is their General now, both in body and in mind."

An uneasy silence fell, where Lavellan just kept staring at the ground and biting his lips and Solas still kept staring at Dorian in that way that makes one feel naked and exposed to all the elements at once.

"What is the plan then?" the apostate finally said, leaning on his staff.

Dorian pondered for a moment. Being with Venatori had granted him access to a lot of information. Yet another reason he felt a degree less horrible about choosing them over death.

"Ferelden belongs to the templars and the General rules it with an iron fist. We have to leave this place as soon as possible. Orlais has fallen. The Empress is dead and the civil war rages on, while the sister of the Grand Duke, together with the Venatori, hold the capital. Perhaps Free Marches..."

"We wanted to find Cassandra," the Inquisitor turned to Dorian once more. "Varric told us she was gathering the Seekers."

"I would advise against it," answered Dorian curtly. "Cullen is obsessively searching for her as well. The risk running into him is very high. He is a vicious and rabid beast, believe me."

Valmyrion nervously started pacing up and down again. Dorian hated to be the bringer of bad news. Hated to see his _amatus_ like this. But with the current state of affairs, the good news were very scarce, if not non-existing.

"Wycome." Lavellan had finally squeezed out, his eyes lightning up with hope once again. "My clan is there. I need to know they are safe and maybe, if Creators are kind, they can aid us."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Death Do Us Part](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491841) by [emeraldfrog3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldfrog3/pseuds/emeraldfrog3), [SilentSlayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentSlayer/pseuds/SilentSlayer)




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